Case of the Weird & Wonderful: Wicked Vengeance
by RetroWriter2012
Summary: In this Halloween mini-tale part of an upcoming "Disney Mystery" series centered on the world of Live-Action Disney, mismatched sisters and private investigators Sammi and Angela take on the case of an 8-year-old boy and a living cottage once owned by the Sanderson Sisters (from "Hocus Pocus"). The story is told entirely from the perspective of Angela.


**Case of the Weird and Wonderful**  
><strong>Wicked Vengeance<strong>

Halloween in my family had not always been fun, but it certainly has been interesting – all because of the certain paranoia of my dear little sister. When she was thirteen, the proper teen-age to consider cutting any ties to the tradition of trick-or-treating, rather than go out to get candy from random strangers, she insisted on going out on a case close to midnight (mind you, it _was_ a school night). I can't exactly recall what the case was about (something along the lines of a serial killer who wore a "pumpkin helmet" and went by the moniker "Jack the Lantern" – yes, that is a play on "Jack the Ripper"). Sammi, my sister, has the most incredible imagination when it comes to virtually everything, especially the holidays. There is this infamous story about a certain Christmas...but more on that later.

Right now, I want to tell you about a case we took just recently for Halloween. It all began with this little fella named Dante, an 8-year-old Salem, Massachusetts African American child who sought out the help of Sammi and me through our special website (" "). Poor Dante has had it rough since the last Halloween. As boys do, he was dared into a situation that he had zero accomplishment in. The dare was orchestrated by friends of his older teenage brother (Darren) that involved Dante spending three straight hours alone in a cottage situated in the cemetery where the Sanderson sisters once lived. Yes, _those_ Sanderson Sisters – Winifred, Mary, and Sarah (I believe they made a movie about them back in the 90s – can't remember what it's called – "Abracadabra," I think).

Stories have spread across town of the cottage still being occupied by the sisters, who dabbled in serious witchcraft back in 1693. Almost all of these stories Dante had heard, and he believed every word. Taking advantage of his developed paranoia, Darren's friends (Zack, Cameron, and J.K.) told Dante to stay in the cottage and not step foot out of it until his three hours were up (How low is that?). Not even Darren was allowed to be with his poor little brother in the cottage, but he was allowed to accompany him to the cemetery (at least these boys still had morals about an 8-year-old being in a cemetery at night).

Unfortunately, Dante never made it past the front steps and lost the dare. His punishment: being forced to wear a Jack-O-Lantern costume every day to school and everywhere else, including his own home, until he reached his senior year (just reflecting on this part of the story makes my blood boil). He had become the butt of many jokes all over his elementary school with a few kids pointing to him and yelling "Punk-in-costume." The cruelty of children has not changed a bit since the days when I was in school.

A week before the next Halloween (and the one-year anniversary of the dare he lost to), Dante decided to skip school and go back to the cemetery, facing the Sandersons' centuries-old cottage with immense trepidation as he stood alone in a dense fog. Once every month, he came to the cemetery to face the cottage, mustering the courage to enter. Each visit was a step closer to the cottage, until he was practically a step away from the front porch. During one visit, he was just about to succeed in his goal of entering the ancient structure all by himself, but then something incredibly bizarre happened: the entire cottage vibrated and shook! Now, at this point in the story, I can tell what you – my faithful reader – are thinking. _A cottage can't possibly move unless there's an earthquake – and there are no earthquakes in Salem._ Well, I thought the same thing when Dante told this to Sammi and me. But I'm getting ahead of myself – let me continue where I left off...

Having just neared the point of maintaining bravery, Dante was resorted to the scared child he was on his first night at the cemetery and ran from the shaking cottage (and out of the cemetery altogether). Thankfully, he ran right into the waiting arms of his brother, who had to skip school himself just to check on Dante – and also yell at him. As it turned out, word spread quickly about Dante's visit to the cemetery and eventually got around to Darren...and their parents. Needless to say, the two boys were thoroughly scolded and punished by them. No phones, television, PlayStation, or Internet for a month and – worst of all – no trick-or-treating. Although Darren had gotten too old to trick-or-treat (that punishment was more for Dante), he was plenty pissed over all the other restrictions set by his folks. Dante, on the other hand, could not care less what his parents said he can or cannot do; he **had** to go back to the cemetery and conquer his fear.

Breaking one of the restrictions (no Internet), Dante used his dad's office room computer one day after school to engage in a Skype chat with Sammi (from our website). Apparently, he learned about her through a news broadcast his parents watched on one of the cases that made Sammi and me famous (a supposedly-haunted Volkswagen Beetle with the number 53 on its front hood – I'll have a story to tell on this another time). The chat between Sammi and Dante did not go down as pleasantly as Dante (and myself, for that matter) had hoped. I'm not proud to admit it, but my sister can be quite cold and inhuman in the way she addresses other, more civil people. It didn't matter if you were Black, White, Asian, tall, short, gay, straight, smart, dumb, or any distinctive characteristic - she will treat you the same way as she treats me (even on her _good_ days) - as if you didn't matter to her universe.

Poor little Dante received the worst of the worst from Sammi in that particular Skype chat. She berated him for losing the dare that led to his daily wear of the Jack-O-Lantern costume - something that she had deduced before Dante even told her. Luckily, I was in the adjacent room of our apartment in San Francisco's Chinatown District (located one story above "Miss Chung's Lo Mein Shop"), watching the latest episode of _Scandal_, when I heard Dante crying loudly from his end of the Skype connection. Responding as quickly as I could to the situation, I rushed into the living room (our nice little section reserved for our computer activities with a lovely antique desk that contrasts with the high-tech Apple computer that sits upon it) and – in every literal sense of the word – pushed Sammi aside to come into Dante's view.

"It's alright, hon. The mean ol' lady's gone. I'm here now." I told him, at the exact moment I took over the chat. "What's the matter?"

"'Mean old lady?' Seriously?" Sammi snarled at me, while her butt sat firmly on the cold hardwood floor.

After giving her the proper shush she deserved, I returned to looking at the computer screen that Dante's tear-drenched face was still displayed on. "Hey, hey, now. It's O.K." As I sat there, comforting this poor child, I realized that we had not been properly introduced to each other. "My name's Angela. I'm the mean ol' lady's _nice_ ol' sister. What's your name?"

"Dante," he told me, after a few sniffs. He seemed to have opened up to me pretty fast – much faster than I'd assumed he did with Sammi, before she blew it with her abruptness.

"You have a really cool name, Dante." I wasn't just being the typical over-complimentary adult here; I legitimately appreciated this little kid's name. "Tell me, Dante. What do you want us to help you with?"

He shared his story with us, leading up to the moment of our chat, and finally asked for our help in solving the mystery behind the "living" cottage.

Sammi stood up firmly, clasping her hands behind her. "Your case intrigues me, Monte."

"Dante." I corrected her through gritted teeth.

"Yes. Dante. I'll accept your case. It's the perfect holiday caper. My sister and I will leave for Salem in the morning."

I smiled at the webcam, expressing my excitement for Dante. "That sounds cool, doesn't it, Dante?"

Dante smiled back but looked mostly in gratitude to Sammi. "Thank you, ma'am."

Sammi, on the other hand, showed no acknowledgment to the boy's gratefulness, her back facing the camera. Of course, after a swift kick to the shin (delivered by yours truly), she finally said in a frustrated voice, "You're welcome."

Dante closed the chat before I did. Once we were disconnected, I didn't hesitate to begin scolding my sister for her treatment of our newest client. "Goodness gracious, Sammi. He's only eight. Give him a break."

"And that, dear sister, is the most intriguing aspect of the case. Prepubescent children have the _wildest _of imaginations."

There are times like this when I just really want to punch her in the face.

* * *

><p>She can speak from experience on children having "wild imaginations," having had one herself when <em>she<em> was one. Remember that story I promised to share about our Christmas? Well, here's a nice segue to it. Back in the Christmas of '94, when we were living in our dreamy suburban house in Malibu, Sammi sat and waited for Santa Claus by the fireplace in our living room. She was around the same age as Dante then, and her sweet, innocent nature had not yet been tarnished by the event that occurred that eventful evening. I had been sleeping upstairs in the bedroom Sammi and I normally shared. Our folks and I awoke to screaming around 4 a.m. We rushed as fast as possible to the living room and found Sammi screaming at the fireplace. Due to the unusual register of her scream, it was difficult to tell if it was in fear or something else entirely. All I knew was that I would never in my life forget how it sounded - never had I heard my sister scream so terrifyingly. The next morning, Christmas Day, whereas we were supposed to be in a festive mood, we were concerned for Sammi, who we spent nine hours trying to convince that Santa Claus was not a slim, brown-haired man with a sour attitude (a description that strongly fit the advertising executive Scott Calvin, who our father once worked for before Mr. Calvin mysteriously disappeared). Sammi remained unconvinced and was pretty upset by our accusations of her making the whole thing up. I remember our mother (a child psychologist) stating the exact words that Sammi herself said about Dante.

Since that day, Sammi had undergone several sessions with my mother and many of her colleagues, each one noting an increasing change in her personality. I noticed it as well (and I'm no psychologist). The joyful, carefree little girl I knew as my sister was no more. Standing in her place was this cold, unfeeling woman who dedicated her life to studying the unsolved mysteries of the world and even trying to solve them herself. It started as just a phase (as our parents called it), stemmed from her visit by the "Faux Santa," but – as she got older – it snowballed into an unhealthy obsession that negatively impacted her social life. And it appeared that the less open she became, the more her intelligence had increased, receiving straight A's all through middle and high schools. She attended college at 17, but it only lasted a year. Sammi was committed to a mental institution one night, after attempting to investigate a "strange happening" that occurred in Szalinski Tech. The only thing that kept her from serving a lengthy sentence in prison was to plead a case of insanity.

Seven whole years she spent in that mental institution, surrounded by heaven knows what type of people. Once she was out, I took it upon myself to take care of her – keep her from making the same mistake that landed her in the asylum. But Sammi was persistent, still going after these impossible, unsolvable cases and trying to play detective (Did I mention she once pursued a degree in criminology?). I spoke to Mom, finding out what I could do to stop this craziness and get my sister back. Unfortunately, there was no solution she could prove – except to allow Sammi to go after these, as she put it, "weird and wonderful cases," since it gives her a sense of the freedom she needed after seven years in the institution. So I set Sammi off the leash and let her investigate wherever and whenever she wanted (we often traveled the globe with funds provided by Dad's hefty severance package from his job, subsequent to Calvin's disappearance, that included a quarter of a million dollars). We solved so many cases all over the world that the media eventually caught attention to our activities (especially the Volkswagen one I mentioned earlier). Even though I consider questioning my sister and her beliefs, I have to admit that being with her on these unusual cases has made me respect this new woman she became all those years ago, despite being a heartless witch at times.

But enough of family history – let's get back to our story...

* * *

><p>The next day, on the eve of Halloween, we arrived in Salem and showed up to Dante's house, using the address he emailed to us shortly after our Skype chat. We expected Dante to be the one to answer the door once we ran the bell; however, it was Darren who answered and was rightfully surprised by our presence. That surprise was soon replaced with a whole different type of emotion the minute he glanced in my direction. At the time, it did not occur to me that he was doing it, but Darren was scoping me out <em>big time<em>. I should have known better than to come dressed in skinny jeans, brown boots, a blue wool jacket, and a cleavage-heavy grey t-shirt to a home of a teenage boy with raging hormones.

Once he did manage to get his hormones in check, Darren defiantly told us, "My parents told us that we're _not_ allowed to invite strangers. You're gonna have to..."

The front door was closing on us, yet my sister – ever the persistent one (even at the age of 27) – barged right in, slamming the door against Darren's face. While I checked on him to see if he was alright, Sammi moved to the center of the foyer and yelled, "Dante! DANTE!" Her voice echoed throughout the luxurious and blindingly white home of our little client. Dante and Darren certainly came from a well-provided family. I don't think I'd ever stepped foot in a suburban home so glamorous since ours in Malibu.

Dante ran down the flight of stairs across from the foyer. His pumpkin costume bounced in sequence to the rush of energy he displayed while making his way to us. If it were not for the unsettling nature behind that costume, I would have found it cute on him. Aw, who am I kidding – he looked cute regardless! He was certainly much smaller in person (the little fella went up to my waistline and barely close to that of my _taller_ sister). He was such a precious little guy that I couldn't help but to hug him like I already knew him the minute he approached. It was a gesture that definitely didn't sit well with Sammi, who said of it, "Good grief, Angela. You barely know the kid."

"After what he's been through, he deserves one," I snapped back.

She went on to make a random comment about Dante and Darren's middle class status, showing off her deductive skills as usual by observing their home, having only stood in it for a mere minute.

"Hey, I know you." Darren said, pointing to her. "You're the tabloid woman – the one who solves all those weird cases."

Sammi gave half a smirk to this recognition. "Is that what the media calls me?"

"No, it's what most of everyone on Facebook and Twitter call you." Darren said, and I couldn't stifle a chuckle at this. "They think you're as crazy as the cases you solve."

That half smirk on my sister's face faded, and she swiftly switched to defense mode. "I don't consider the opinions of a bunch of lazy, Cheeto-finger-sucking virgins as..."

Knowing the hell that was coming up next, I made the move to step in and say, "Hey, why don't we focus on helping Dante? You know, the reason we're here."

Sammi nodded in agreement (it's rare she ever does that) and got her mind back on track. "Right. Darren, call your friends. Let them know about the new dare that Dante has challenged them to."

The rest of us were stunned by this plan. "WHAT?"

Obviously, I had to voice my objections on this idea of hers. "Hold up. I thought we came here to diffuse the issue of these boys forcing Dante to wear his costume every day."

"What the hell gave you _that _impression?" Sammi sourly remarked (I _really_ can't stand it when she leaves me out of the loop like that). "No, we're here to get to the bottom of his living cottage, and the only way to do that is to challenge our challengers with a dare of our own."

"And what exactly are _we_ daring _them_ to do?" Darren questioned (he sounded just as aggravated over this as I did).

You couldn't tell it from her emotionless demeanor, but Sammi certainly loved every second of this. As always, there was a method to her madness. "If Dante spends the entire three hours in the cottage, he has to finally take off the costume and Zack, Cameron, and J.K. themselves must wear their own embarrassing costumes. If Dante fails _again_, then he has to spend an entire summer camped at the cottage – _alone_."

Darren's eyes nearly fell from his head, being as wide as they were. "My little brother? Alone? In _that_ cottage?"

The plan was beyond childish and extreme. But I shouldn't expect any less from my sister.

Halloween had arrived, and as much as I wanted to play chaperone for Dante in his trick-or-treating (despite being banned from it), I was one of his escorts to the cemetery. Upon our arrival, Darren warned us that Zack, Cameron, and J.K. will know of our involvement and probably call off the bet. But Sammi had counted on this happening.

"What do you mean?" I asked her out of curiosity.

"The vibrations and shaking Dante saw...they happened so close to the anniversary of his first visit that they can't be coincidence, wouldn't you think so?"

I was beginning to see her point. "You mean that it was timely rigged to act out at the precise moment Dante stood near it?"

The way we were going back and forth (which is how it usually was with us in these cases, when our minds became synced for that one special moment), I completely forgot Darren and his little brother were standing near us. "You guys suspect Zack, Cameron, and J.K. are the ones who've been fooling my lil' bro?" There was a hint of anger I noticed in his voice. It would be best to know for sure what was happening there before we all jumped to conclusions.

That's why I was glad to hear Sammi say, "We're going to find out – and there's only one way to."

* * *

><p>By nightfall, Dante was finally inside the cottage. It wasn't easy getting him inside, but I managed to give him some courage by telling him how Darren, Sammi, and I would be watching close by. Sure enough, we were there, watching closely and carefully (and even cautiously) from the base of an old willow tree. After the first hour, nothing happened - the cottage had not budged whatsoever. I decided to make some conversation with my sister and ask her what <em>did<em> make it move and how three teenage boys would have the resources to pull off such a crafty and (dare I say) scientific prank.

She dodged answering my question by asking Darren one of her own: "As long as you've known those boys, have you known them to take part in any science clubs at your school?"

Darren snickered. "Those fools don't even know how to make a potato into a battery."

Sammi sighed – more with interest than frustration. "The mystery of this case is growing by the second."

The second hour soon passed and, other than Sammi going "Number One" on the gravestone of a notorious slave owner who died in the mid-1800s, still nothing noteworthy had happened. Darren was the one who started conversation, this time with me, asking what I could only call the cutest question I think a young man like him could ever ask me: "What school you attend?"

I busted out laughing at this unexpected inquiry from the teenager. "I'm sorry?"

"Your school? What're you? A junior? A senior?"

It immediately dawned on me that Darren had (for the whole time we had been there) believed _me_ to be a teenager. It definitely explained the way he scoped me at the front porch of his house, as well as the repeated times I caught him gazing in my direction when I bent over. I had to break it to the poor kid gently. "Oh, sweetheart. I hate to tell ya this, but...I am nowhere _near_ your age. My school days are long behind me."

The look on his face was fortunately not the one of heartbreak as I had expected. He was much rather amused than anything else.

After nearly two minutes in speechless awe of my revelation, he gave the most flattering compliment a woman my age could receive: "You look seventeen!"

I don't think I could've smiled any bigger from that. "Really? Wow."

"How old are you for real?"

I didn't answer; instead, I shushed him and said, "Let's not spoil the moment, shall we?"

The third and final hour came. Darren had fallen asleep, his head resting on my shoulder at first but then drooping down to my breasts; his mouth was gaped open right over my cleavage, giving way for any drool to fall right in the crevice (thankfully, none came – he wasn't such a messy sleeper). I was so tired that I didn't bother moving him; plus, he earned brownie points with me for that sweet compliment earlier. Sammi, on the other hand, had her attention rested on the cottage, which she did not turn away from the entire duration we spent there gazing at it. From the sharpness of her focus on the old structure, I almost believed her to be genuinely concerned for Dante's well-being.

"You care," I softly said, diverting her eyes away from the cottage for only a millisecond.

"What?"

"You care...about that poor child in there...don't you?"

She glared my way again, her chocolate brown eyes looking like black circles in the night atmosphere. "I only care about something weird and wonderful happening." Surprisingly, just after she said this, we heard a low, humming noise that sounded like a running electric generator. It came directly from the rear of the cottage. Immediately, I woke Darren up from his peaceful slumber over my bosom, alerting him to the noise. With all three of us attentive, we approached the cottage and discovered chrome, high-tech piece of machinery that looked like one giant air-conditioner (though I'm being rhetorical on this description, Sammi was quick to criticize me on the "pale comparison," but you catch my drift). Etched on the side of the machine in big, bold, black letters were the words "Szalinski" and "Tech." My heart skipped a beat in fear of the trigger that had been pulled in my sister's mind upon seeing the name of the corporation – the memories that sparked from her hellish years in the institution.

But, to my surprise, Sammi remained completely calm. "Szalinski Tech. The company founded and operated by famous inventor Wayne Szalinski, known for experimentation of cutting-edge technology." I couldn't tell if she was reciting this information more for _my_ benefit or Darren's – possibly his, since I already knew everything I did about Szalinski Tech (except for what Sammi herself knew – but that's a whole different perspective entirely).

All of the sudden, there was a scream from inside the cottage, and considering Dante was the only one inside, it was obvious who it was. We did not waste one second of rushing into the cottage – I believe Sammi moved faster than Dante and I had (either she was genuinely concerned for Dante or she wanted to see what scared him – I'm betting on the second one). We ran inside to find our little buddy standing before the strangest scene I have ever witnessed in the three years Sammi and I have been investigating: glowing forms of the Sanderson sisters themselves, looking exactly as they did three hundred and twenty-one years from the last time they roamed the earth.

"Leave now, weaklings! Or else suffer being turned into itty-bitty snails that we will feast upon!" The manifestation of Winifred threatened through her massive buck teeth.

Darren and Dante were clinging onto each other with fright, while I stood paralyzed from whatever it was I had seen across from us. Sammi, however, made a defiant stance against the manifestations, boldly declaring, "I deny your existence!" She firmly stood between the sisters and Dante – another gesture that made me question whether or not she was truly watching out for the little guy. "Go ahead – make due on your threat!"

Winifred's eyes darted left and right, seemingly hesitant. "Really?"

"Did I stutter?" Sammi barked.

The tension in the cottage shifted dramatically from the second Sammi challenged the sisters. I noticed how dumbfounded the sisters were of what to do next and, by the clever grin on Sammi's face, she had anticipated this reaction. Suddenly, I felt a lot less alarmed and a little more sure of the fact that what we witnessed was another fabrication. I was so relieved that I almost didn't catch Sammi hurling a wrench (that I presumed she took from the Binford Tools brand toolbox by the generator) at Sarah. It struck her right in the forehead, causing her to exclaim (in a _masculine_ voice), "Aw, damn, man!"

Darren instantly recognized the voice. "J.K.?"

Sammi retrieved another item from the left front pocket of her black wool jacket – one that resembled a car remote – and pressed a button on the small device. In a flash, the Sanderson sisters were transformed into Zack, Cameron, and J.K., all of them wearing the witches' dresses and even makeup (which looked rather disturbing on three teenage Caucasian boys that resembled _male_ versions of the sisters). The minute he saw his so-called "friends" exposed for their cruel prank on his little brother, Darren was furious – ready to charge at his former buddies. Frankly, I didn't blame him for wanting to, but these boys had to be properly punished for their crime; so I held him back.

"Their egos are bruised enough." I told him. "Besides, I have something _way_ better." With a wicked smile, I took out my smartphone and switched on the camera function, aiming the lens right toward the cross-dressing hooligans. Once I saw the image come into focus on the touchscreen, I snapped the perfect photo that I immediately had posted all over the Internet, from my Facebook page to the Weird and Wonderful site. Seeing what I had done, Darren laughed hysterically. "I'll email you a copy."

While Darren and I were all laughs and high-fives, Sammi remained severely serious over the matter, approaching the boys and questioning them as if she worked for the FBI, pacing left and right in front of them as they stood in line. "Where did you boys manage to get the tech?"

Zack, Cameron, and J.K. did not say a word, prompting me to walk up to them with my phone, which had the photo I just took of them saved as the desktop background. "You know, fellas, not only can this phone take pictures, but it can also call the police."

"It was the tall Polish chick!" Cameron blurted out so fast that I barely noticed that it was him that caved, to the dissatisfaction of his accomplices.

"What's her name?" Sammi inquired.

Zack shook his head as it hung low in shame. "We never found it out." I could see he was being honest about this, which was why Sammi and I left it alone for right now.

Although Sammi wanted me to _really_ contact the police to arrest Zack, Cameron, and J.K., I thought it best to just call their parents instead (the boys didn't really commit any _serious_ crime – they were merely pawns in whatever plot the real person behind this, the "tall Polish chick," had orchestrated it for). Of course, I did in fact contact the police for the stolen Szalinski Tech property. All of them arrived at the same time, along with Darren and Dante's parents (who I contacted first to alert them of the boys' presence at the cemetery, making sure to add that they were safe). Needless to say, Zack, Cameron, and J.K. were strictly punished by their parents (they actually received harsher punishments than Darren and Dante had with theirs); Darren and Dante were cleared of their own, after I had talked their parents over Dante's problem and why it was important for him to take action – the little fella was only fighting for his dignity.

Freed from his pumpkin costume, Dante returned to his normal street clothes (an adorable _Wreck-It Ralph_ t-shirt and jeans). To be honest, I had hoped he kept the costume on, since he was allowed to trick-or-treat again; but he told me that he really wanted to go as Iron Man for Halloween. The sweet little guy thanked me for helping him, this time hugging _me_ first.

He then went to hug Sammi – something that I meant to warn him about. But I was too late.

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!" Her outburst was so fierce and intense that everyone at the busy scene fell silent, all eyes looking to her. I knew it was coming the second I saw Dante's little arms reach into Sammi's coat, hoping to have been wrapped around her curved hips. Dante backed away, his hands and lips trembling. Sammi collected herself and returned to that cold, unfeeling creature she always was, telling Dante in one last chilling tone, "I don't like to be hugged..._ever_."

We watched her turn ever so sharply and walk out through the front gates of the cemetery, hands buried deep in her pockets and head held rigidly upright – the posture of a woman too dignified to admit she has one hell of a stick up her butt. I then looked away from her and to Dante, who had tears falling down his face. One last time, I embraced him, allowing him to cry into the wool on the right shoulder of my jacket. With a heavy sigh, I softly told him, "I'm so sorry, hon. She's a case of her own that needs fixing."

**Case of the Weird and Wonderful**


End file.
